


I Just Want You To Know

by octoberland



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, F/M, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberland/pseuds/octoberland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just needs her to know. Before anything else bad happens. Before any more of them die. Just a little snippet, a parallel if you will, of Daryl reaching out to Carol and trying to be there for her like she's been there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Want You To Know

**Author's Note:**

> This was from a prompt. The prompt was lyrics from the song Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls:
> 
> "and i don’t want the world to see me, ‘cause i don’t think that they’d understand. When everything’s made to be broken, i just want you to know who i am”
> 
> I'm just trying to survive this week and the upcoming finale by writing so feel free to send me more prompts. This little bit is set in Alexandria but not at any particular point. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you for reading.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended anywhere. I do not own these characters. I'm just loving them from afar.

He was silent, steps light as he moved through the house. Years of hunting had taught him to be mouse quiet, and to stay on the right side of the wind so his scent wouldn’t give him away. His bow hung heavy at his side, the weight of it making him itch to be back outside; the large airy rooms made his chest heavy with claustrophobia. It wasn’t real air in here. It was manufactured. Manufactured homes. Manufactured air. Manufactured safety. He wanted out.

He’d tried. Been out with Aaron. Tasted the sweet warm air tinged with grass and pollen and decay. Felt it on his skin, a kinder touch than he’d allowed himself in some time. Only touch that didn’t hurt.  _'cept hers_ , he thought.

He didn’t like feeling that way. Didn’t like how she made him vulnerable. Girls weren’t ever something that he did, not even before. Sure, he’d had a few drunken flings spurned on by his shitbag brother Merle, but mostly those just ended up in him passing out and pissing Merle off. Daryl Dixon didn’t date. And he sure as hell didn’t fall in love. That shit was for pussies, or so Merle had told him.

And yet. Yet. Here he was. Restless on his runs with Aaron. Worried. Not worried that she couldn’t take care of herself. He had no doubt she could put up a good fight against any one of them. No. He wasn’t worried that she couldn’t take care of herself. He was worried that she _wouldn’t_. He’d seen the changes in her; felt them sharp and stinging like paper edges drawn across fragile skin.

She didn’t smile anymore, didn’t flirt with him. She’d turned on that dime, going from warrior to withdrawn, and it worried him. She was shutting down. He knew ‘cause he’d done it too, once. She’d helped him then. He’d help her now, if he could.

So he stood. Watching her. Shiny wood dining table to his right, the top of it gleaming in the midday light. She was in the kitchen, staring out the window, still. If she’d heard him she made no notice of it. He watched her breathe, barely noticing how his own breath slowed in time to match hers, how just being in her presence always calmed him. Sometimes that made him angry, but not today.

He watched, and he waited, until finally he saw the slightest tremor as she stood there, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

"What is it?" he said as he advanced, concerned at what she may have seen outside.

Carol whirled, knife in hand, startled.

"Whoa," Daryl raised his hands, crossbow still in his right.

"Don’t do that," Carol admonished as she tucked the knife back into her pants. She turned and pretended to fuss with something in the sink.

Daryl put his bow down and walked over to where she stood, looking out the window over her shoulder. “What’d you see?” he asked.

Carol glanced quickly out the window, eyes resting on a rose bush in bloom, and then went back to washing the same spoon over again. “Nothing,” she said, lips tight.

"Bullshit." Daryl leaned closer to the window trying to figure out what she’d seen.

"Why are you back?" she asked. It sounded almost like a reprimand, like the way his daddy’d talked to him when he was little.

"Why are you washing that spoon for the third time?" he replied. Daryl leaned back away from the window and let the full weight of his gaze fall on her.

She washed it for a second more and then her shoulders fell. “Damn it,” she whispered. She threw the spoon down into the sink where it made a clanging sound and then shut the water off. Her wet hands gripped the edge of the sink again. There was a long moment of silence, then, “What’re you looking at?” She turned the full force of her glare on him, words dripping with anger. She was spoiling for a fight.

She turned, leaned against the counter, one hand resting on her hip. “You have something else clever to say about my wardrobe?” She motioned her hand up and down, pointing at her sweater and khaki pants.

Daryl said nothing.

Carol pushed herself away from the counter only to slam her palms down onto the long marble island opposite. “Maybe you want cookies too?” Even through her sweater Daryl could see her muscles flexing. She was wound tight, a coil ready to spring.

Still, Daryl said nothing.

There was another long silence punctuated only by Carol’s breathing, loud, unsteady. It made Daryl think of an animal about to be let out of the gate.

Finally she turned on him. “What!” she snapped.

Daryl moved his body ever so slightly towards hers. Not enough to spook her. Just enough to be one step closer to her.

"Stop," he said, voice quiet.

At first, nothing. Her face remained a solid mask; her breath came heavy, body screaming fight or flight. Then, the mask slid. Carol’s breath caught.

"I can’t," she said.

Daryl saw her eyes glisten in the hazy light filtering through the curtains. She took a step back, hitting the marble counter.

He took a step forward. “What happened?”

The mask slid back into place. “Leave.” Carol’s voice was ice and it slid along his spine, cold and uncomfortable. But it wasn’t enough to make him leave. She’d done this for him once. He could do it for her now.

"No," he said as he took another step closer.

She did something unexpected then, something old Carol never would have done. But this was new Carol. Hard Carol. Killer Carol. Housewife turned hunter.

He felt the blade before he saw it, sharp against his rough skin, biting into his chin. She’d taken good care of it. He could already feel the tip of its point cutting into him. “You gonna cut me?” he challenged, leaning into the blade. He knew there’d be blood. He just didn’t care.

Carol’s lips drew into a hard line. He could see her contemplating it, knew she’d give him a good slice if she wanted to; and like her, like that time long ago, he’d take it, just like she’d been willing to take what he’d almost dished out to her.

But she didn’t. Her grip on the blade loosened. Her face softened; eyes shone with unshed tears. “You don’t know what I did,” she whispered.

Daryl took the knife from her hand and placed it on the counter. “I don’t care.”

He leaned in. There was almost no space between them now and his whole body shook, little warning tremors, and now he had to fight the instinct to flee.

"I don’t care," he said again, steeling himself, voice gravelly from disuse.

"You should." Carol shrank beneath his weight and closeness, wilting like a flower.

"Why?" Daryl grabbed her face with both his hands when she tried to look away. "Why?" he said again, forcing her to look at him.

"Because of this…" Daryl looked around the room, "cage?" he said.

Carol shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

"Because of Rick?" He still held fast and felt her shake her head a little more vigorously.

"You’re bleeding," she said, and he saw it for what it was: a distraction.

Daryl made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

"I. Don’t. Care." She said, her eyes growing hard again.

Daryl took a deep breath and then let it out. “I do.” He let his eyes bore into hers. He didn’t want to say the words, couldn’t say the words. He just… needed her to know. Before anything else bad happened.

"I do," he whispered, gaze falling to her mouth.

"Daryl," she protested.

"Shut up," he said. Then his mouth was on hers and for one brief moment this crazy world they existed in made sense to him, finally. It didn’t matter that the kiss was sloppy. It didn’t matter that his pulse was thundering in his ears. It didn’t even matter that he heard the front door open and a moment later a little boy entered the room, giggling.

All that mattered was the way she softened in his arms, and the little sound she made in the back of her throat when he pulled away. He knew that sound alone would carry him through a month of sleeping alone under the stars. He also knew it meant she’d let him in. No more walls. No more armor. Not around him. And sure enough, when he looked down at her…

… She was smiling; small, soft smile; half threat, half promise.

He didn’t know what the future held. Maybe he’d die. Maybe she’d die. Hell, maybe they’d both die. But at least she knew, and it had made her smile.

Now, he reckoned, was probably as good a time as any to take that shower she’d been harping on him about.

He let go of her, moved away and down the hall, grabbing his crossbow as he went, eyeing the boy as he passed him. As he made his way upstairs he heard the boy ask “Is that your boyfriend?” followed by Carol promptly saying no. He guessed that was true enough. Boyfriends were for the time before. Things were different now. What they were, whatever it was, it was different. And that was just fine by him.


End file.
